


Phoenix Tears

by Hegemone



Series: Venom and Tears [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Blind Character, Blind Harry Potter, Blind!Harry Potter, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hegemone/pseuds/Hegemone
Summary: When Harry slew the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, venom got in his eyes, mostly blinding him. After an attack shut down the Perenelle Flamel Center where he was learning to adapt, Harry returned to Privet Drive unexpectedly with the threat of an escaped Death Eater dogging his heels. All he wants to do is break free of the Dursleys, but how can he with Professor McGonagall at his side? No pairings.This is part three of the Venom & Tears Series.Read Basilisk Eyes first! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269131
Series: Venom and Tears [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026852
Comments: 108
Kudos: 119





	1. Outside in

**Author's Note:**

> December 31, 2020: Happy New Year! I hope you and yours are happy and healthy as this new year starts. Thank you for your kudos and comments... they make my day! 
> 
> This story is cross-posted on fanfiction.net, wattpad, tumblr, and harrypotterfanfiction if you prefer those platforms, search for Basilisk Eyes by Hegemone or Hegemonemilo or Hegemoneapple. I am open to concrit and suggestions. You can email me at Hegemonemilo at gmail dot com.

Harry Potter sat on his bed in the smallest bedroom at Number Four Privet Drive, leaning against the headboard. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as his fingertips brushed over the dots emerging on the small slate balanced on his knees. He laughed out loud without a thought of stifling his laughter and then felt along the top edge of the slate until he had his fingers aligned over nine impressions on the surface, one for each finger and a longer depression in the center for both thumbs. His tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he started pressing into the divots in patterns and then paused every once in a while to run his fingers over the six-cell patterns of dots that had emerged on the slate below allowing him to read what he’d written. Assured that he hadn’t flipped his i’s or e’s, he continued writing. 

Though Harry’s understanding of braille was growing, he was still very slow. He was determined to get faster before the start of term (still over a month away) because he wanted to avoid having other students overhear him working on his assignments or having to fiddle with silencing charms. Communicating with his friends through the slate was the perfect way to practice. And the connection the slate provided helped ease his despair that was fueled by the stifling miasma of bleach mingled with Petunia’s perfume.

The slate had been a gift from his friends Gemma Boot and Petro Sinistra just as he was leaving the Perenelle Flamel Adaptation Center unexpectedly. The Center—where he had acquired a lot of useful skills for getting around since he’d been blinded by basilisk venom in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of May—had been forced to close after it had been attacked and compromised by a wix who had been hades-bent on ruining the life of another resident at the Center and her family. Also, there was the little matter of an escaped Death Eater who was purportedly trying to kill Harry even though the two times he’d managed to get close to him, he inexplicably ran away. All of this happened in the last two months and in a trice, Harry found himself back at Privet Drive. The slate in his hands was helping him hang onto the reality of it all. 

But Privet Drive was different this time and Harry was trying to explain this to Gemma. She was peppering him with questions… first with an onslaught of demands… she wanted to know why Professor McGonagall had whisked him away from the Center and back to the Dursleys. Why did he have to go back? Why couldn’t he have gone anywhere else? Why couldn’t he go home with her? She didn’t seem satisfied with the answers Professor McGonagall had given him and it made him wonder if he should have fought harder for another solution. 

_I did try,_ he reassured himself. He felt his cheeks heat up as he remembered how he had even hidden from Professor McGonagall in an attempt to talk to Healer Jordan alone… to plead his case. 

_Load of good that did._

He shook his head trying to dislodge the resentment. Professor McGonagall was in the sitting room right now telling Aunt Petunia how it would be and Aunt Marge was being magically detained in the kitchen. 

Harry cocked his head. He could still hear Ripper’s occasional whimpering and wondered again what Professor McGonagall had done to the dog. While one part of him felt a smidge bad for the bulldog—after all, he was just a manifestation of Aunt Marge’s bullying—another part of him couldn’t resist taking some pleasure in knowing that Ripper was getting his due. The skin on his leg tingled with the memory of Ripper’s teeth around his ankle.

Harry shook his head to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts and turned his attention back to his conversation with Gemma. Now she was telling him about their friend Aminah who, with her mother, was trying desperately to secure the release of her father from Ministry of Magic custody. The real culprit of the attack on the Center had vanished without a trace to an eternal punishment of his own making. This happened when the magical vessel that he, Bill McCarthy, had stolen and loosed on the Center had been returned to its sacred place in the world. The void of magic disappeared, magic returned to the Center, and McCarthy had been pulled along with the vessel. 

But then the Ministry had blundered in… after the mischief had been managed… and took the wrong man. Just remembering it made Harry so angry… that coupled with the memory of the Aurors grabbing and pulling him in all directions without so much as a by-your-leave let alone any kind of warning. There was something about being blind that made people think it was okay to yank him around. And not being able to see them grabbing for him made it even worse. 

He shook his head again and tried to focus on the conversation underneath his fingertips. But Gemma was signing off. Her mother had just arrived at the Center to take her home. 

“All right. I’ll talk to you soon,” Harry conceded and sighed as he stashed the slate in his staff. 

What he wanted was to be back at the Center, in his dormitory with his friends. He wanted to feel Gemma’s signs under his cupped hands, her vitality pulsing through her movements, her friendship warm next to him. He wondered how far the navigation charm would work? Could he ask his staff to take him to Gemma no matter where she was in the world? He flicked it out of the holster on his arm. 

“ _Navigant_ Gemma Boot,” he demanded. Its silence was his answer. He flicked it back into place next to his wand. He sighed as he swung his feet over the side of his bed and found his trainers with his toes, shoving his feet into them and adjusting the tongue and laces so that they were comfortably on. He stood up, careful of the tea service that Professor McGonagall had sent to his room, and reached out for the small table that stood under his window and next to his bed until his knuckles grazed it. He reached across it to the fluttering curtains that were being sucked outside by the warm July air and felt the intensity of the sun on his outstretched hands. He closed his eyes against the brightness. 

Even with his glasses magically modified to block out the bright light, the sun was too bright to allow Harry to keep his eyes open. It was all the vision he had left… some light perception and light sensitivity if it was too bright. Healer Jordan at the Center had explained how the venom from the Basilisk that had gotten into his eyes when he stabbed the giant serpent with the sword had damaged his optic nerve. Only Fawkes’ tears had managed to preserve his light perception… (well and his life). He was glad for it, even when the sun was too bright, because, at least he had a sense for what time of day it was and could orient himself in a room with windows. And he could still see the moon at night.

Hedwig had flown off to hunt after arriving at his window and his little snake friend, _Nio,_ had slithered off to reunite with his family in the garden. But Professor McGonagall’s sharp Scottish tones were audible as they drifted up the staircase. It sounded as though his Aunt Petunia was not giving in easily to the prospect of Harry’s unexpectedly early return from the Center… especially given that Professor McGonagall had likely informed her that she would also be staying. 

Uncle Vernon and Dudley didn’t seem to be home at the moment… and then Harry remembered that it was still the middle of the day. Uncle Vernon was still at work and Dudley was no doubt out terrorizing the neighborhood.

“Harry, would you please join me and your Aunt in the sitting room? We have some things to discuss.” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded so close to Harry that it made him jump and a shield erupted around him, pushing the tea service away from him in a clattering of china and silverware. 

When the Professor didn’t say anything else or comment on the fact that he had swivelled and crouched into a defensive stance with his wand flicked out in his hand, he realized that she must have sent the message magically. As his embarrassment threaded up his neck, he ended the shield charm and reached out a hand to steady the rattling tea service. He gritted his teeth to resist the urge to shove it out of his way. He knew that Professor McGonagall had placed it there so that he could enjoy some refreshment by himself while she dealt with Aunt Petunia, but he was still feeling resentful about being forced to return to the Dursleys at all. 

He edged around the tea service and walked deliberately to the stairs, listening carefully to the tone of the conversation as he made his way down the stairs. His thrumming heart taking up all the space in his chest and leaving no room for his breath.

Wary that Aunt Petunia might have shifted the furniture in the sitting room since he left, Harry shook out his staff when he reached the last step and swung it out in an arc in front of him until the silver tip tinged against the wall and then he followed the wall until he found the entrance to the sitting room. 

Aunt Petunia and Professor McGonagall were sitting in heavy silence and Harry paused just inside the doorway, suddenly cognizant that they must be both staring at him. His throat started to close and his skin tingled with the urge to run away. He thought about his broom tucked into his staff… he could just pull it out and hop on it. Fly up into the clouds as high as he could go and then cast the Navigant spell to the Burrow… surely the Weasleys would take him in. 

“Morgana’s shift… they are in Egypt still,” he remembered. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to walk over to the sofa where a bony hand grasped his outstretched hand to pull him down to a seat. He resisted the urge to pull his hand out of Professor McGonagall’s and swallowed his irritation that she still couldn’t remember to warn him before she touched him. 

“My apologies, Harry,” she muttered when he flinched. He tried to shrug it off as he settled on the sofa and collapsed his staff, flicking it back into the holster on his arm. He tucked his hands under his knees and leaned forward. 

Aunt Petunia harrumphed and shifted in her seat across from them, stirring her tea vigorously. 

“Thank you for joining us. Your Aunt and I have been working on terms for our stay. I believe we have reached an agreement,” Professor McGonagall explained in clipped tones. She sounded more exasperated with Aunt Petunia than she’d ever sounded with Harry… even after the incident with the troll in the bathroom or the dragon on the astronomy tower. 

Harry’s legs jumped a bit, but then when Aunt Petunia made another disgruntled noise, he calmed down… if she didn’t like it, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for _him_. 

“Mrs. Dursley, would you like to explain our agreement to Harry?” Professor McGonagall asked in a professorial voice. 

“No, I would not,” Aunt Petunia grumped. 

Professor McGonagall sat in stony silence and Harry could imagine the thin-lipped staring battle that was occurring between them. 

“Oh, all right then!” Aunt Petunia gave in. “Harry, you and this… witch… will reside at our house and continue to work on your training in the room upstairs.”

“And?”

“You will be treated with respect,” Aunt Petunia spat out like a bitter seed.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Professor McGonagall said as if she were speaking to a petulant first year. 

Harry was sceptical about the “being treated with respect” bit. He imagined that Professor McGonagall had a different definition of the concept than his Aunt. 

“Now, I will deal with the other Aunt and her beast.” Professor McGonagall stood up swiftly, smoothed her rustling robes and vanished the tea service with a pop. 

“Could you vanish my tea service as well?” Harry asked quietly as she stepped past him. He wasn’t sure if she heard when the echo of her hard-heeled boots receded down the hallway. 

Harry and his Aunt sat in uncomfortable silence as they both strained to hear what Professor McGonagall was doing with Aunt Marge. Harry was surprised that Aunt Petunia hadn’t followed Professor McGonagall down the hall berating her for taking matters into her own hands in her house. Maybe Professor McGonagall had performed a sticking spell and Aunt Petunia was stuck to the upholstery. Harry tried not to smile at the thought. 

“Oh, you think this is amusing, do you?” Aunt Petunia sneered. 

“No, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, his amusement freezing after being blasted with her icy tones. 

“Well, mark my words. Your witchy Professor can’t be with you every moment of every day…”

“Actually, I can,” Professor McGonagall said. “And I will. Was that the onset of a threat?” 

Harry jumped and Petunia squeaked, her teacup rattled precariously. 

“How?”

“You need not concern yourself with how. Just know that I am watching over Harry now as I should have from the moment he was placed on your wretched doorstep.”

Harry was turning his ear toward Professor McGonagall’s voice, trying to determine if her body was close by or if she was doing the disembodied voice thing again. He hadn’t yet been able to discern a difference and it was disconcerting. While he was glad for the potential protection from the Dursley’s constant haranguing, he didn’t at all like the idea that Professor McGonagall was going to be watching him constantly… magically and without him even knowing. His face felt hot as he thought about having an audience while he used the toilet. He couldn’t hold it forever. 

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ll have privacy as well. The spell I’ve cast, well, it allows for that.”

Harry wondered now if Professor McGonagall was able to read his mind. He pointed his other ear toward her voice, listening hard. He had a lot of questions for her… but not right now in front of his Aunt who was sputtering in response to the constant reference and use of magic in her house. 

From the kitchen came the scrabbling noise of Ripper’s toenails on the tile floor accompanied by more whimpering. Aunt Marge was strangely silent. 

“What have you done with Marge?” Aunt Petunia asked in a tremulous voice. The way her voice was pitching around the room it sounded like she also was searching for the source of McGonagall’s voice. 

“As she is a muggle who is not to know about the wizarding world, I’ve used a common and harmless muggle repelling spell on her. It is not as effective on dogs, so I’ve had to contain the hound using other methods. Rest assured, they are both being handled with more respect and consideration than you’ve ever afforded your nephew.” 

Aunt Marge’s thunderous footsteps vibrated in the hallway and then went marching mechanically up the stairs to the guest room. Harry could hear her rummaging around above their heads. 

“What is she doing?” Aunt Petunia asked again as Professor McGonagall’s footsteps rejoined them in the sitting room. 

“Packing,” Professor McGonagall’s voice reverberated in stereo for a second and then there was a barely audible pop and Harry guessed she’d ended the spell that amplified her voice in two spaces at once. 

“Vernon won’t like this!” Aunt Petunia warned. 

“I’m not concerned about that. What I am concerned with is… Why is it that the guest room is more comfortably outfitted than Harry’s room?”

Harry tucked his chin to his chest and braced himself for a tirade that didn’t come. He cocked his ear in his Aunt’s direction, wishing that he could read the expression on her face. Then sighed, feeling grateful that actually he couldn’t see her face and the inevitable disdain that would be etched on it as she thought about Harry’s place in her house. 

“Well, that and many things are going to change around here,” Professor McGonagall said. “Harry will be receiving many visitors so that he can continue his training. We will create a secure passageway so that they can come and go without notice. 

“What? I will not stand for this! Your kind are not welcome here! They can not come and go as they please!” Aunt Petunia’s voice had risen to its most shrill. “I will not have my house turned into a freak joint!”

Harry flinched and shrunk into the sofa. 

“Mind your tongue or I will mind it for you!” Professor McGonagall’s tone had risen in severity as she took a step closer to Petunia. “If the protection your sister placed on Harry didn’t require your presence, I would send you off with Miss Dursley and her beast. As it is, it is within my rights and inclination to silence you if you cannot manage to speak and act with respect toward Harry and his kind!”

Harry tried to wedge himself between the cushions on the sofa. He wasn’t sure why Professor McGonagall wanted him present for this. 

There was a stomping on the front stoop, the door slammed open announcing Dudley’s arrival. Harry gritted his teeth and shrunk into himself even more. His arm tickled as he thought about summoning his invisibility cloak from his staff. 

“Mum! I’m hungry!” Dudley demanded as he stomped toward the kitchen. 

“Just a moment, Duddikins. I’ll be right there,” Aunt Petunia’s voice was now lilting. 

But his footsteps stopped abruptly at the kitchen. 

“Mum? What’s going on? What happened to Ripper?”

His voice proceeded his pounding footsteps down the hallway to the sitting room. He stopped again at the threshold, his breath ragged. 

“Who? Who are you?” he gasped. “And why’s the freak here?”

There was a pop of magic and then Dudley sighed and turned and his heavy steps made their way slowly upstairs where he started rummaging around in his room… making similar noises to Marge. 

“No! What did you do to him?” Aunt Petunia seemed to be struggling to rise from the sofa. “Let me go after him! Didn’t you hear? He’s hungry!”

“He’ll survive a good while without anything to eat, I dare say. And he can go with Miss Dursley as far as I’m concerned. Your presence is the only requirement. We don’t need to suffer any more fools than that,” Professor McGonagall said primly. 

Harry sat up a little straighter. 

“And Uncle Vernon, too?” he asked. 

“And Uncle Vernon, too.”


	2. Oh, fudge

“This is my house! You can’t evict Dudley and Vernon! You can’t keep me prisoner in my own house! After all we’ve done for the boy… this is the payment we get! I won’t stand for it. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll … ring the police!” Aunt Petunia took shrill to a new level as she understood what Professor McGonagall intended to do. 

“Oh, you think your police will be overcoming magic, do you?” Professor McGonagall said in clipped tones. “Your laws don’t apply here. This house is magically warded… Harry is one of the most… "

"Don't!" Harry blurted out afraid of what she might say. He had lurched forward, hands scrunching the lace table runner on the low table between the sofa and Aunt Petunia’s chair. "She doesn't want to hear any of that."

Aunt Petunia yelped in alarm. It took Harry a moment to understand why. When he heard the clink of china against the rings in her hand he knew he had dislodged one of the figurines that had been the bane of Harry’s existence dusting this room. 

There was a pop of magic and the shattering of china and Aunt Petunia cried out in alarm and pain, “You broke it! Purposefully!”

“You care more for a knick-knack than your own nephew. You should be ashamed. Sadly, I doubt you fathom the depth of your vileness,” Professor McGonagall said with so much loathing that Harry was surprised to feel a pang of pity for his aunt.

“Harry, would you be so good as to repair the figurine for your Aunt?” Professor McGonagall requested. 

“Me?” Harry asked, turning his nose toward the Professor, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Which one was it?”

“This one!” Harry felt the air in front of his face move and he leaned back allowing his disbelief to show. “Er. The Nymphenburg Petunia that my grandmother gave my mother when I was born,” Aunt Petunia sniffed and then her voice was muffled as she bent to pick up the shards. 

“I don’t think I should do it, Professor,” Harry said. “I get the color wrong.”

“Yes, Remus was telling me. I think it could serve as a nice reminder for your Aunt,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Color? It’s porcelain—just perfectly white,” Petunia spoke over the professor. “And he’s not to do  _ that _ in our house. Your ministers even said so. Sent him a letter when he wrecked my pudding!”

“That wasn’t me!” Harry huffed.

Aunt Petunia yelped again as there was an eruption of wings and scritching claws across the window sill behind Harry. He turned his ear toward the sound. 

“Hedwig?” he asked. 

“It’s not Hedwig, it is a Ministry bird,” Professor McGonagall informed him. 

“See! Just like before!” Aunt Petunia had jumped up and run out of the room while Professor McGonagall’s robes rustled as she strode over to the window.

Harry listened as Professor McGonagall undid the leather straps on the bird’s leg. There was a crack of wax breaking and stiff parchment being unfurled. The sound filled Harry with dread. Sure it was going to be another howler, he braced himself. 

However, no screaming filled the room—just the small sounds Professor McGonagall made while reading the parchment. 

“What does it say?” Harry finally asked after the Ministry owl’s hoot faded as it took off and the silence became intolerable.

“Huh?” Professor McGonagall sounded as if she’d just awoken to the fact that he was still in the room. “I apologize, Harry. It is just from the Ministry about our visit. I had certain questions about the details of our time here and what I’m permitted and not permitted to do as your de facto guardian.” 

“You’re my guardian?” Harry asked, sitting up taller.

“De facto… a temporary measure as part of my role as your Head of House and because the Ministry is finally recognizing that your muggle relations… well, I won’t go into that at the moment. I can explain it later in more detail. For now, yes,” she explained, her voice betraying more emotion than her normal conservative pitch.

“Oh, all right,” Harry said quietly, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Granted, he felt a smidge safer than having the Dursleys as his guardians, but it wasn’t all warm and fuzzy as it might have been if it was the Weasleys or the Grangers.  _ And why don’t I get a say in it?  _ He huffed in exasperation.

“Oh, and the Minister wants to visit,” Professor McGonagall said over her shoulder as she left the room. “He’ll be here for afternoon tea. I need to set up… ” Her voice trailed after her as she marched down the corridor, eclipsing when she went into the kitchen, no doubt tracking down Aunt Petunia. 

Harry sat for a moment and then stood up. He shook out his staff and headed for the front door. He paused for a moment after his hand found the knob, listening to the low murmur of his Aunt and Professor McGonagall’s conversation in the kitchen. While tense, it didn’t seem as incendiary as it could have been. Upstairs, Marge and Dudley were no longer walking back and forth on the squeaky floorboards and he wondered what they were doing now that they must be done packing. He shrugged and eased the door open, years of muscle memory coming into play as he slid it open and slipped out without a sound. 

Harry closed it just as quietly, found the edge of the stoop with his staff, then the walkway to the garden where he hoped to find  _ Nio _ sunning on the stone wall. As the fragrance of the stock flowers grew stronger, he called out to  _ Nio _ in parseltongue. 

“ _ Nio _ ? Are you out here?” There was a rustling sound coming from the garden. A bubble of happiness rose in his throat.

“ _ Sthei!  _ Is it time to weed again? I wouldn’t mind some juicy insects.”

Harry flicked his staff into his holster and knelt down breathing in the tang of damp grass. He stretched his hands out in front of him until he felt  _ Nio’s _ tongue whispering against his fingertips. 

“Sure, let’s find you some treats,” Harry said, smiling as  _ Nio _ wove through his fingers and he dug into the earth under the stock flowers. Soon the snake was sighing contentedly with a belly full of grubs. 

“Big Friend, even though being with you means I’ve flown through the air in the talons of an owl, nearly been frozen to stone, and felt like I was torn inside out—having my fill of juicy, fat worms makes it all seem worthwhile.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing at  _ Nio’s _ slurring words as he fought sleep. Harry tucked in his shirt and transferred the snake carefully from his neck to his belly, wiggling until the serpent wasn’t tickling him anymore… then he eased himself onto the stone ledge that bordered the garden and soaked in the sun, an arm slung across his eyes (glasses stored in his pocket), and a hand protectively over the slumbering snake at his navel.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

“Harry?” 

Harry started as he was shaken awake. He flung his arm off his face in an attempt to steady himself and whacked someone. He was mortified as he heard Professor McGonagall yelp in surprise as she jumped back and he tumbled off the stone wall, hitting his head against something solid.

_ Nio _ squirmed in alarm and Harry put a calming hand over the bundle of snake at his belly button. 

“What’s this?” Harry asked as his other hand, holding his wand, brushed against a smooth concave shell that surrounded him. His voice bounced back to him and the noises of Privet Driver were muffled. 

“Ah, it is indeed impressive. This is what Lupin has been telling me about,” Professor McGonagall remarked, her voice on the other side of his shield. “I’m sorry I startled you, Harry. I called to you from across the garden, but you mustn’t have heard me.”

Harry ended the shield charm and stood up. 

“Er, right,” he said as he wiped a string of drool from his lip. “I was really sleeping.”

“Is that the snake in your shirt?”

Harry fished inside his shirt and pulled a grumbling  _ Nio _ out. 

Professor McGonagall took a step back. “Ah, you were both sunning yourselves. Well. I certainly understand the appeal.”

Harry’s chin shot up as he tried to understand the hint of envy in her voice. 

_ Nio  _ continued with his plaintive hisses, questioning why their perfectly respectable nap had been so rudely interrupted.

“Hush,” Harry whispered in Parseltongue, forgetting that the Professor couldn’t understand the snake’s complaints.

“Harry, the Minister will be arriving soon. I trust that you’ll want to freshen up before he arrives? Perhaps, bathe? And put on your dress robes?”

“Dress robes?” Harry questioned. 

“You have some, don’t you?”

“Er, what are dress robes?”

“Well, I suppose that answers my question. I’ll transfigure some for you for this occasion and then later we can go to Diagon Alley and get you some proper ones,” Professor McGonagall huffed. 

Harry shrugged in response. 

“The Minister of Magic is coming to visit you, Harry. Surely you understand what this means?”

“Er, no?” Harry muttered as his face warmed. 

“Well, come now. I know you’re not this dense. If only Miss Granger were here to whisper in your ear,” Professor McGonagall huffed as she tugged at his elbow and started marching them back to the house. 

“Er, I should put  _ Nio _ back in the garden,” Harry said, pulling away from her grasp.

He flicked out his staff and walked back toward the garden wall until the silver tip tinged against the stone. 

Quietly, he explained to  _ Nio _ that he had to return to the house and that he’d come out later to dig up more grubs.  _ Nio _ whisked between the stems of the stock flowers after a grudging goodbye and Harry followed Professor McGonagall’s crisp footsteps as she marched across the garden. 

They entered the house through the kitchen. As Professor McGonagall opened the door, Harry cast a quick scourgify charm on his shoes at the threshold… the thrill of doing a bit of magic with intention at Privet Drive lodging in his throat. 

In the kitchen, he was greeted by the scrabbling of Ripper’s toenails on the lino. His skin seized in apprehension, but immediately, Harry had to clutch at his ears as the dog emitted a piercing whine while retreating to a corner of the kitchen and knocking over a chair in the process. 

“What is wrong with Ripper?” Harry asked as Professor McGonagall charged across the room. 

She paused and Harry’s staff whacked her. “Sorry!”

“Er, there’s nothing wrong with Ripper… well, other than being allowed to terrorize people. I’ve just helped him to understand the new order here. He’ll be fine. Also, he’s not so fond of me… I think a human-sized cat is a rather disconcerting conundrum for the beast.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed… feeling dissatisfied with the answer. He wanted more details.

“Come along, now. We’ve got to sort out your wardrobe before the Minister arrives,” Professor McGonagall said, tapping her foot. “I’m holding the door open for you.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Harry said and he swung his staff in a narrow arc to find the door jambs.

Upstairs, Harry felt that his smallest room was even more crowded than usual as Professor McGonagall huffed about the state of his clothing. He was glad that he’d been able to vanish a lot of his really grubby hand-me-downs after Dr. Granger and Hermione took him shopping earlier in the summer. 

“I suppose this will have to do,” Professor McGonagall muttered and cast a charm on one of his smaller school robes. “Here, put this on.”

“Er, Professor. You want me to wear these… here? At Privet Drive? My uncle will be coming home soon. He’ll blow a gasket if he sees me wearing this,” Harry said as he ran his hands over the now velvety fabric of his robe. He found that the collar was now fringed with corded silk embroidery punctuated with small glass beads. “No offense. This feels amazing and is probably wicked, but if he doesn’t kill me for being wixen, he’s going to kill me for being a poof.”

“Language, Harry,” the Professor reprimanded him. 

“Er, that’s my uncle’s word, not mine,” Harry explained. 

“Well, it’s not worthy of repetition. At any rate, I’ve put a muggle repelling charm around the house. Your uncle will be compelled to stay away for a bit. Go ahead and slip them on. And I think the robes are very becoming… based on current fashions.”

Harry found the collar and slipped the robes over his shoulders. He was struggling with the fastener when Professor McGonagall stepped closer and took over. He felt warmth growing up his neck as he stood like a little lord and let her dress him. 

“There you go. The emerald velvet really does bring out the green in your … eyes,” Professor McGonagall sniffed. “Let’s fix your glasses, too, while we’re at it.”

“What? But Madame Pomfrey charmed them to block the sunlight… otherwise it hurts my eyes.”

“Oh, well, I can do a charm that has the same effect, but doesn’t hide your eyes.”

“Er, Godric said that opaque glasses are a visual clue… so that people know that you’re blind.”

“It’s up to you,” Professor McGonagall conceded. 

“I’ll just keep them the way they are, thanks.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. 

“Ah, I believe he’s here. Don’t worry, Harry. You’re not in trouble,” Professor McGonagall counseled. 

Harry’s head shot up in alarm. 

“It’s just you had that look on your face… the one you get when you’re called to the Head Master’s office. If anything, this visit is long overdue and an honor. See that you give the Minister the respect the office affords.”

“Er. All right,” Harry said, trying to school his expression into something more neutral as he followed the Professor from the room and down the stairs. He felt as if the grubs he had dug up for  _ Nio  _ were squirming in his belly.

For a second before Professor McGonagall opened the door, Harry wondered where his Aunt had gone, but then the door was opening and he was greeted with an overpowering cologne that had a wixen twang to it… more along the lines of essential oils than the Le Male cologne that Uncle Vernon liked to bathe in before important meetings. 

“Welcome, Minister. You’re certainly prompt for a Ministry official!” Professor McGonagall greeted. 

“Ah. Professor McGonagall, I  _ am _ arrived at the correct residence. Thank you! Ah, well. Since I traveled by non-magical means, I wasn’t sure how much time to allow. It was a good thing that Croaker here is muggle-born and knows enough of the tub…” 

Here Mr. Croaker interrupted the Minister and corrected him, “That’s the tube, Minister.”

“Ah, yes. The Tube! Though they look more like tubs, don’t you think, Croaker? Ah, well, everyone knows there’s no sense in muggle naming conventions. Right.” The Minister seemed a bit flustered.

“Come in, come in. There’s a bit of a sitting room to the right,” Professor McGonagall ushered the men into the house. “I apologize that it isn’t more comfortable… we’ve only just arrived ourselves and I haven’t had time to make many modifications.” 

The Minister turned as he entered the door and commanded: “You, Williamson, Dawlish! Remain out here. Use a disillusionment charm. There are muggle repelling charms on the residence, but better be safe and vigilant.”

From the aromas wafting from the room, Professor McGonagall had conjured an even more posh tea for their guests. Again, Harry wondered where Aunt Petunia was hiding… but maybe this was better. She couldn’t help but be terrible to any wixen guests, even if it was the Minister of Magic and others he had dragged along. 

“Well, this is quaint!” the Minister said, clapping his hands. “So do all muggles live like this?”

Harry felt as though the question was directed at him, though he wasn’t sure. He sputtered a bit, but couldn’t form an answer. 

“Er. I believe there are quite a wide range of muggle residences, Minister,” Mr. Croaker muttered. 

“Right, right. Probably just as much variety among muggles as there are among wizarding households. Thank you, Mr. Croaker.”

Harry stood to the side as Professor McGonagall directed the Minister and Mr. Croaker to take seats. He wasn’t sure where he should sit and had a terrible itch to flee. He willed his legs to still though they seemed to have a life of their own in the moment and he hoped that no one was paying attention to him. 

“Mr. Potter!” the Minister exclaimed. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh. Though I was so sorry to read about your ordeals at Hogwarts and your terrible and tragic injury. It must be awful. And the healers report that there’s no restoring your sight. Such a horror. How are you getting along?” 

“Er. I’m fine, Minister,” Harry responded, not really sure how to respond to the tsunami of words that erupted from the Minister. He leaned a bit against his staff… not sure if he should try to find a seat or remain standing. 

“Oh, Harry, dear. Come here. There’s a seat over here that I conjured for you,” Professor McGonagall said in a rush and pulled him over to an unfamiliar plush chair. Harry’s foot caught on the dress robes and he stumbled a bit. Professor McGonagall’s robes sounded even more starched than usual and he wondered if she’d transfigured her own into something more posh while he was dressing.

Harry settled into the chair and collapsed his staff. He resisted the urge to put his hands under his knees and tried to sit up straight. 

“So, Mr. Potter. I imagine you are wondering why we have come to visit you?” the Minister said. 

“Er. Yes?” Harry replied. 

“Well. I believe you know that a dark wizard has escaped Azkaban and is believed to be searching for you. In fact, I understand from my Aurors that he managed to get dangerously close to you during the incident at the Center.” 

“Er. Yes?” Harry repeated. 

“Well, while the Hogwarts staff believe that you are safer under the blood protection afforded you in your relations’ house, there are factions at the Ministry who question the wisdom of leaving you alone in the hands of muggles and would like to offer you a safe house within the Ministry. What do you think?” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked tentatively while Professor McGonagall sniffed dubiously across from him. 

“We’re offering you a safe haven where you’d have protection around the clock from the best of Ministry’s Aurors, not to mention access to the latest magical innovations available to wizarding kind.”

“How about the Center?” Harry asked. “Couldn’t I stay there? Until Hogwarts is in session again?” While leaving the Dursleys had a definite appeal, he was wary about the Aurors he’d just met (and who were apparently traveling with the Minister and stationed outside of Number 4 Privet Drive at this moment). 

“Really, Minister. Do you think it is wise to put such a decision in the hands of a minor? Harry doesn’t understand all the risks. It doesn’t seem prudent to me,” Professor McGonagall protested. “And he’s still adjusting to his blindness.”

Harry felt his gorge rising. 

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything!” Harry protested, sitting up a bit straighter and sticking out his chin.

“Certainly, certainly,” the Minister consoled. 

“We understand that as a result of your injuries you’ve ingested some highly magical substances that are having surprising results,” interjected Mr. Croaker with a jittery voice. “The Ministry could help you learn how to harness your new abilities.”

The phrase “new abilities” reverberated through his consciousness for a moment and then Harry remembered Professor Flitwick’s excited voice stating, “I bet the Ministry can’t wait to get their hands on you!” And the rush of pleasure that he’d experienced remembering how he could simply rub some of his tears on a cut and it would disappear vanished. 

He leaned back wanting to get away from Mr. Croaker. The hair rose on the back of his neck. It was as if the tendrils of Devil’s Snare were creeping along his limbs again. 

“Er. Do people really live at the Ministry of Magic?”

“No, not commonly, but with a little bit of magic we can make it very comfortable,” the Minister urged. 

“If I have a say in it, I’d much rather continue my training at the Center,” Harry stated, feeling defiant. 

“Ah, well. That’s an issue isn’t it?” the Minister said. “The Center is temporarily closed.” 

“Minister, we’ve made arrangements for Harry to continue with his training while he remains here under the blood protection that kept him safe from You-know-who and his ilk all these years,” Professor McGonagall said with an emphasis on later. “Professor Dumbledore insists that Harry is safer out of the public view.”

The neglected dankness of the cupboard infiltrated Harry’s memory at this and he tucked his hands under his knees. The air in the room was suddenly thin and the velvety robes suffocating. 

“You think he’s safer here than at the Ministry?” 

“There are just so many people who travel through the Ministry every day… how can you be sure that Harry will be secure there?” Professor McGonagall asked. 

“Given what happened at Hogwarts and at the Center in the last few months, I’m surprised that you’re questioning the safety of the Ministry!” the Minister said forcibly. “And there have been reports that the boy was not so protected here.”

“I need,” Harry said quietly, standing up slowly and shaking out his staff, “to visit the toilet. Excuse me.” 

His departure from the room went unnoticed, though, as Professor McGonagall has also stood up to vehemently explain that she was residing with Harry now and her sole purpose was to make sure that Harry was well-guarded. 

Harry closed the door quietly behind him, unfastened (with a bit of difficulty) the silken clasp at his neck, letting the heavy robes fall to the ground, and slid down to the floor where he put his head between his knees until he didn’t feel so lightheaded anymore. 

He berated himself. Hadn’t he always wanted to escape Privet Drive? Now that he was getting what he wanted, he realized that he needed more. 

_ When did I become so greedy? _


	3. Beetle juice

Harry sat leaning against the door of the bathroom listening to the voices of the Minister of Magic and Professor McGonagall as they rose in pitch and ferocity. He pulled at his hair and then drew in a calming breath, counting to ten until he didn’t feel like blasting through the wall. 

When he felt better, Harry flicked out his wand, pausing to imagine how each of the Dursleys would react in turn to a gaping hole in the side of their house. Instead, he cast the cleansing charm on the bathroom floor, a devious smile on his lips. He turned around and laid on his back with his legs running up the door, bunching the velvety robe under his head as a pillow, and rested his hands on his belly feeling smug in his small rebellion. 

He hoped that Ms. Midgeon would be among the instructors who would visit him until the Center was inhabitable again. While her lessons often felt a bit silly, they were the ones that he drew on most when he felt like everything was falling apart. He tried to imagine Ron stretching alongside him and giggled. 

Professor McGonagall’s hard-heeled boots sounded in the corridor outside the toilet, reverberating through the floor along his spine. He sighed and started to slide his legs down the wall when she rapped on the door. 

“Harry? Are you all right? You’ve been in there an uncommonly long time. You’re not ill, are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he sighed and sat up. He reached for the sink and pulled himself up. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

He felt for the faucets and turned on the water. Placing his glasses on the glass shelf above the sink, he bent over and splashed cool water on his face. He ran his hands through his hair and then felt for the towel hanging by the sink. As he pressed the towel against his face, he took in another deep breath, replaced the towel, then groped for the knob and opened the door. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Professor McGonagall interrogated. “Come, come. The Minister of Magic is waiting for you.”

He was surprised she was still standing outside the door and he took a step back. She stepped forward and grasped his wrist, pulling forward. He yanked his hand down. 

“Please, Professor McGonagall. Stop. Grabbing. Me,” Harry seethed. “I know you’re trying to help, but I can get around on my own just fine.”

Professor McGonagall was quiet for an unsettling long amount of time and Harry blinked and held his breath while he waited for her response.

Finally she drew in a long breath and said, “You’re right, of course. I apologise. I will work on it.” 

He hung back, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. They’d already had this conversation before. 

“I promise. Truly,” she sighed. “Harry, the Minister!”

“What about him?”

“The Minister of Magic came to call on you! And you disappeared into the toilet!” she hissed. “Where are your robes? Your glasses?”

Harry felt for the door, then followed it to the floor and reached behind it until he located the pile of robes. He lifted them up and ran his fingers along the edges until he found the neck and swung it around his shoulders. He was fiddling with the clasp at the neck trying to figure out why he couldn’t get it to line up.

“Er. You’ve put them on inside out,” Professor McGonagall said, her feet shuffling as if she were coming forward to assist him and then thought better of it. 

Harry blew a frustrated breath that made his fringe fly up. He swung the robes out again, turned them around and was able to get the clasp to fasten this time. The robes were suffocating and hot and he disliked having to wear them. He tried swallowing his resentment, but it lodged in his throat.

“Come now. What is going on with your hair?” She pressed a hand to his head and he yelped in response.

“Er. Pardon me. Just grab your glasses and let’s return to the Minister,” Professor McGonagall said, turning briskly and walking away. 

It took Harry a moment to find his glasses where he’d stored them. He was fuming which didn’t help. He shoved them back on his face and stepped out into the hallway.

The Minister and Professor McGonagall were again engaged in a tense conversation. “Mr. Potter needs to be kept safe and we can do that much more effectively at the Ministry,” the Minister insisted. 

“I respectfully disagree, Minister,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice dangerous as it was calm. “While I have my concerns about the Dursleys, there is a reason why Professor Dumbledore felt that Me. Potter was safer here than in a wizarding household or the ministry. The Ministry agreed with him over ten years ago when the debate raged about the best safe harbor for the boy.”

“But I wasn’t the minister at that time! And Healer Jordan has notified the Ministry of the bruises and signs of malnutrition that he exhibited. We are deeply concerned about Harry’s well being,” the Minister had stood up and was pacing back and forth. 

“And not to mention the potential for study. There is so much that we could learn from him. No other wizard has survived the killing curse, and then when you add the Basilisk venom to the mix…” Mr. Croaker’s voice reminded Harry of Dudley when he was trying to convince his mother that he really needed an expensive new toy.

Harry stepped back, leaning against the wall. His heart was threatening to suffocate him and he willed it to calm so that he could hear what they were saying. But it was more of the same. After a moment, he knew what he had to do. He returned to the toilet, pressed the lock from the inside, closed it quietly so that it locked. Then, he flicked out his staff and summoned his invisibility cloak out with the barest whisper. He undid the clasp at his neck and shrugged the heavy dress robes, letting them pool at his feet. He was tempted to just leave them there… the image of Aunt Petunia finding them almost making a giggle erupt from this throat… but then stuffed them back into his staff. He took a step, then paused to toed his shoes off and stuck them into his staff, too. 

Harry swung the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head. The fabric tingled against his skin, thrumming with magical energy. As he held it as his neck, his finger caught on a small eyelet that he hadn’t noticed before and he wondered if this cloak also had a fastener like the fancy dress robes that he’d just been wearing. 

An impatient harrumph from the Minister jerked him back to his present predicament and he lurched forward, then remembered he needed to be calm and quiet. 

He held his staff off the floor so that the silver tip wouldn’t give him away and padded across the sitting room doorway holding his breath. 

At the front door, he whispered the navigation charm and then eased the door open again, listening to his staff’s cues about the Aurors who were stationed outside. He slipped through the narrow opening and quietly closed the door behind him. He was careful to pull the door closed, but not so hard that the latch clicked. Holding his breath again, he listened carefully and walked between the Aurors in stocking feet, feeling for the edge of the stoop with his toes. 

Once on the garden path, he stepped stealthily from stone to stone, pausing often to listen for clues that the Aurors had noticed him. 

He didn’t have much time until Professor McGonagall would check on him again, but he wanted to find  _ Nio _ before left. He’d had enough of this tug-of-war. Professor McGonagall meant well, but he could tell from her voice that she was going to give way to the Minister and he was not going to allow himself to be poked and prodded by that Mr. Croaker bloke. He had a bad feeling about him and the whole Department of Mysteries.

One of the men sneezed behind him and Harry nearly tripped. He caught himself and waited, then taking in a deep breath, continued walking along the garden path following the guidance of his staff. Once he was through the gate and behind the house, he sped up and swung his staff in a wider arc. 

When his staff tinged softly against the short stone wall, he bent forward, found the ledge, sat down, and called  _ Nio _ in parseltongue. He waited for a moment, listening, then summoned both his new and old trainers from his staff. He put on his new trainers and unlaced the old trainers. He stuck those back into his staff and then felt for the eyelets again at his neck and tied the invisibility cloak in place with the old laces. He felt along the edges of the cloak and found other eyelets. He was able to pull one of the laces in half because they were so worn and with the short ends tie the bottom of the cloak to his wrists. It allowed him to wear the cloak without having to hold it closed. 

_“Sthei?”_ _Nio_ called from Harry’s right. “I can smell you, but I can’t see you.”

“I’m here,  _ Nio _ ,” Harry said, waving his hand. 

“I hear you, but I still can’t see you,” the little snake said as he grew closer. 

“I’m wearing my invisibility cloak,” Harry explained in a quiet voice. “You can’t see my hands?” Harry moved them around testing out the ties that he’d fastened to his wrists. He stuck his feet out. 

“No, you’re as invisible to me as I am to you,” the snake said. 

“Can you see my feet?”

“Ah, now I see you. Just your funny coverings, though.”

“You mean my shoes?”

“Yes, those—but only when you stick them out far as you just did.”

“I suppose that’s good.” 

A car driving by brought Harry back to focus. 

“ _ Nio _ , I need to leave. Do you want to come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, but I need to leave before they take me to the Ministry to do experiments on me.”

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” the snake said as he wound his way up Harry’s offered hand. “How will we travel? By owl?”

Harry snorted at the idea of Hedwig carrying him. “Actually, I was thinking of flying on my broom,” Harry said. “And don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. But we need to hurry. They are going to start looking for me soon.”

Harry transferred  _ Nio _ to his neck, tucked his shirt into his pants, and summoned his broom out of his staff. He swung his leg over the broom and placed his staff into the notch on his broom, changing the navigation to vibrate. 

“Can you see the broom?” Harry asked as he tried to catch all the loose ends of the cloak and tuck them in, while remaining covered up and balanced on his broom. 

“Just a little. Mostly it is not visible,”  _ Nio _ said. “We’ll come back later, yes?”

“Er, I don’t know. You don’t have to come with me, if you want to stay here with your family,” Harry said, though it ached to say it. 

“So we’re off on another adventure… to return who knows when? I guess I’m a flying snake, now,”  _ Nio  _ said with so much conviction that Harry’s eyes stung and his throat grew tight.

“You’re a good friend,  _ Nio, _ ” was all Harry was able to manage. 

From inside the house, Harry could hear raised voices and guessed that they had noticed he wasn’t there anymore. 

“Okay, hang on. Here we go,” Harry said, launching them into the air.  _ Nio _ tightened his hold on Harry’s neck. 

“Ease up,  _ Nio! _ You’re going to choke me!” Harry coughed, putting a finger between his neck and the snake. 

“You’re going to hit some trees!” the snake hissed. 

Harry wobbled a bit on the broom as he put his hand back on the handle, focused on the vibrations again, and brought them up short so that they made their way over the trees instead of through them. A branch grazed his foot, but didn’t catch. One of the edges of the cloak was flapping behind him, pulled away by the wind. He sucked in a deep breath and rose higher, hoping that his legs weren’t visible to the Aurors searching for him below. 

“Are there any clouds? Do you think they can see us?” Harry asked  _ Nio _ , but the snake didn’t answer and Harry worried that he’d been selfish asking  _ Nio _ to accompany him. After a little bit the snake seemed to relax and stretched out his neck to peer down. 

“I can’t see the garden anymore. We are far, far away,  _ Sthei,  _ and all the moving chairs are like aphids.” 

“Moving chairs?” Harry asked, thinking of Besel’s wheelchair. 

“Like the one your angry man squeals around in—after the sun rises and as it is setting.”

“Oh. Cars. He’s not my angry man,” Harry sighed, and felt relief to be flying away from Privet Drive and all of the Dursleys. 

“Still don’t know where we’re going?”  _ Nio _ asked. 

“No idea. I just needed to get away.” 

Harry’s mind was racing through all the possibilities:  _ Ron’s in Egypt, Hermione’s in France… and besides, that’s where they’ll look first. I don’t know how to get to Gemma’s, though I suppose I could ask her with the slate she gave me, but I probably can’t go to any friend’s house because they’ll find us there. Hogwarts and the Center are out. I wonder if I could fly to that island that Mei goes to? How far can I fly on a broom? How long would it take? Days? I wish I had Aminah’s flying carpet. I should have brought some food. I should probably go someplace where there are other wix, otherwise they’ll be able to detect my underage magic. Where? Diagon Alley? Too crowded… I couldn’t sneak around in my cloak without bumping into people. Hogsmeade? Where could we stay in Hogsmeade without anyone noticing us? _

“ _ Navigant _ north,” Harry spoke to his staff in his broom and maneuvered so that he was heading north. He wasn’t sure what was north, but somehow it felt better to be heading a direction, rather than just away. 

He was thinking about the photo albums he had stored in his staff… the photos that he’d looked at with his digitus that transformed the flat images into three-dimensional shapes that he could feel. There had been a cozy cottage where his parents lived when he was a baby… he remembered the name written beneath one of the images of the three of them standing in front of it. 

_ “Navigant  _ Godric’s Hollow,” Harry said in a tremulous voice.

“So you know where we are going now?”  _ Nio  _ asked with a slight squeeze of Harry’s neck. 

“Yeah, there’s a place I want to visit. It may not be where we stay… but maybe I can find some answers there. And I’m not sure anyone would think to look for me there.”

“We can always find the Adelphi in the area and stay with them,”  _ Nio _ said and Harry wondered if he’d be able to survive on a diet of earthworms and beetles. 


End file.
